


of pixies & sweetsongs

by SilverSie



Series: Strange Magic Week 2016 [3]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Flirting, Bog messes up Really Bad, F/M, Fluff, Marianne's Pixies, Misunderstandings, Strange Magic Week 2016, i demand more fics with the pixies, too much fun tormenting Bog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7838428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSie/pseuds/SilverSie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bog’s chosen form of flirting is basically, “Fight me.”</p><p>For Strange Magic Week Day 3: Tiny People in Jars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of pixies & sweetsongs

It all began with an average diplomatic counsel with the Fairy Queen—though ‘average’ was certainly not the right word to use, as these counsels were never uneventful when she was involved, and the Queen herself was anything but average, in any sense of the word—but perhaps with how well this counsel went (‘well’ being a relative term), the Bog King should have seen the figurative storm clouds on the horizon.

The Queen had been particularly… _spirited_ as of late, being combative at every proposition he made and furthermore, the _looks_ she kept giving him…

They seemed… almost… playful? As if she were taunting him, perhaps. And each time he finds himself wondering just how deft she might be with that sword on her hip (but asking the neighboring monarch whom one was in the midst of peace talks with for a "friendly spar" was simply _not_ something he would do, no matter how much disdain the Bog King may have for stiff propriety.)

In any case, ever since this last counsel, the King has had an unsettling feeling and it seems things have been… disappearing.

First it was only small, unimportant things, like the water goblet he _swore_ he just set on his desk, or the parchment from that morning—

But then it was the food he was in the middle of eating, and he had begun hearing _singing_ during the night, and for a full day the Bog King legitimately wondered if he’d finally gone mad. And then his staff was misplaced.

Unfortunately for whoever or _whatever_ was taking his things (may the Earth have pity on their souls when he finds them), a very large, heavy staff was something much more difficult to steal and to hide. Plus, the metal clanging against the stone down the hallway was a dead giveaway.

So when the King immediately shot towards the sound on wing, he was _very_ surprised to find three small, brightly colored sprites (attempting to) wrangle his staff into their hidey-hole underneath a table.

Despite being quick on his wings (a fact he’s proud of), the sprites shriek and scatter at his sudden appearance and chasing them proves fruitless as they seemingly vanish into the smallest nooks and crannies they can find (or perhaps the unholy realm from whence they came).

He spends _three days_ attempting to catch them (and some of the night, too, as their singing seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once). And now, it seems, since the little demons knew they had been found out _and knew they could run from him,_ they weren’t afraid to be a little more obvious with their mischief and even allow themselves in plain sight, scattering (and _giggling_ ) just as he reaches them. As if they were _taunting him_. It was _infuriating_.

“Sire?” Thang inquires one day, for the fifth time, “Is something the matter?”

 _Naturally_ the fiends did damn well not to reveal themselves to any of the  _other_ inhabitants of the castle, so the King also _looked_ like he was losing his mind, swatting at thin air and yelling and snarling at nothing but specks of dust (although, to be honest, the latter was less unusual.)

And if anyone heard any light, airy singing (almost ethereal) late in the night, they didn’t question it. Even his mother was getting worried.

“ _It’s that damn fairy,_ ” he growls, with conviction. “She set them loose upon my castle to _torment me_ , the conniving little hellion!” He took one last swipe at a flash of purple.

Thang faltered, unsure what to do about the King’s unseen foe and his apparent distress. “Is there… anything you need?”

In a fit, the King topples a table and growls, “Fetch the Sugar Plum! It’s time I send a message to _her majesty the Fairy Queen._ ”

 

* * *

 

 Queen Marianne of the Field, meanwhile, had been nearly tearing her _own_ castle apart looking for something. A _few_ somethings. Her week-long rampage finally petered out into a sudden depression one day.

“Dawn,” she says miserably with her face in her hands, fingers pulling roughly on her hair, “I have no idea where they could’ve gone. I’ve looked  _everywhere._ I—” the always-regal and fierce Queen actually _sobs_ , “Skies Above, how could I _lose them—?_ ”

Her fair sister rubs her back sympathetically, in tears herself, “Marianne, it’s not your fault. I’m sure they’re okay, they can take care of themselves—mostly—”

They’re interrupted by a polite knock on the door and a friendly voice, “Um, Marianne? A letter’s arrived—”

With a sniffle and a brush of her hands to wipe away tears, she calls him in, “From who?”

The door opens enough for Sunny’s apologetic face to poke through. “Er, from the King, actually, and it’s, uh…” he hesitates for a split second. “…it’s addressed _personally_.”

Dawn can’t help but smile at how her sister straightens up at _that_. “F-from—?” She stands to take the letter and Sunny meets her halfway, offering a compassionate smile.

The Queen wastes no time in tearing the letter open and reading it, curious to see what he might have to say only a week after the last counsel.

She stares at the parchment for only a moment before she speaks, “Son of a  _bitch_.”

“Marianne!”

The Queen ignores her sister’s admonition, crumpling the letter in her hands, “That—! That sneaky, evil, _beast of a man!_ ” The letter promptly tears in half and she immediately takes off straight out her window, despite the cries of her sister and Sunny.

“ _Marianne!_ ” Instead of attempting to chase her sister all through the Dark Forest however, Dawn turns to the fallen letter and smooths out the pieces to see what had upset her so.

It was quite short, and in fact only held a single question:

    

 

> _Missing something, your Majesty?_

* * *

 

 Catching them actually turned out to be simpler than the King thought, once he _put_ some actual thought (and less rage) into it. He simply had to sit and wait with a trinket they were sure to desire, for they could not _resist_ a challenge, much like a certain Queen (they reminded him of her quite a bit, actually, from the way the green one set her hands on her hips in a taunt to how the pink one would giggle at his temper. He could say with confidence that the Fairy Queen was far, _far_ less infuriating, however.)

He kept a certain fairy’s spider-web prison within arm’s reach of his waiting spot (and, admittedly, had even asked her what she knew of these things, since she _was_ a fairy—“They’re _pixies_ , not _sprites_ , silly!”—which had actually been a relief, to know that he wasn’t mad) and every once in a while Sugar Plum might give a hum if one of the devils was near. He was very suspicious of how interested she was in these things and whatever they were doing, but that could wait until after they were at least dealt with.

At last— he snatched at the first flash of color he saw, only realizing he succeeded in catching one when he looked at his hand and saw the tiny green woman wearing a scowl on her tiny, tiny features. “ _Finally_ ,” he mutters, trying to be gentle with his grip, not wanting to harm something of the Fairy Queen’s even if she did unleash hell itself upon his castle. He brings the little nuisance closer for a better look (he’d never seen a pixie,) but what he did not expect was for her to reach out and slap the end of his nose as soon as it was in reach, and how _strong_ the small thing was. He jerks back at that, looking at it incredulously, wondering if that was in fact an evil cackle he just heard. His eyes narrow and without further ado he shoves the first pixie into Plum’s imprisonment, ignoring the Fairy’s imploring looks and complaining (“It’s pretty crowded in here as it is, you know.”)

After the first was captured, the other two followed remarkably closely behind, and within another day he was now relatively pixie-free, despite their now incessant chattering and their insistence on singing no matter where they might be.

He prepared to wait another full day after catching the pixies for her majesty to come and _collect_ , up until she barged into his Throne Room that evening.

“Oh,” he says casually, reclining back in his throne, “You’ve decided to finally come and reclaim your _things,_ have you?”

The Queen outright ignores this however, marching straight up to him and jabbing a finger to his chest (none of the goblins react, she’d gotten tiffed at him before—idly he finds it amusing that if she’d done this a cycle ago, it would have been as good as an act of war.) She speaks through gritted teeth and it’s very strange to be looking _up_ at her. “ ** _Where. Are. They._** ”

He only raises a brow at this display and her tone, how _angry_ she sounded, before standing, easily towering over her again. This doesn’t intimidate her in the slightest nor does it change her demeanor, her glare level with his (that’s what he likes the most about her— wait, what?) and now he finds himself with some small shreds of _doubt_.

He motions with a hand and a terse, “This way, _your Majesty_.” He leads her down to the dungeon, positive that she doesn’t stop glaring at his back the entire way (the Great Earth may only know _why,_ ) but the next time he looks at her she looks considerably paler and yes, alright now there is definitely doubt and the whole angry tirade he had planned (and, er, maybe rehearsed. Only a little) had well and fizzled out by now. Now he was just baffled. _He_ was the one who had gone through _hell_ this past _week—_

 _Then_ when she actually spies the spider-web prison, she gives a loud gasp and actually _shrieks_ , “ _What did you DO?!_ ” before running over to the web to inspect the teeny, tiny specks that her pixies were reduced to within its enchantment. (Plum is simply observing the scene, studying the Queen before raising an eyebrow at him.)

The Bog King sputters, “What did **_I_** —?”

The petite and now _wholly distraught_ Queen points not only at the web, but all around them at the dungeon, and he realizes with utter horror that there are _actual tears in her eyes_. “This! _What is this!_ ”

If he was baffled _before_ , at the sight of her tears every thought in his mind seems to outright die (along with the words in his mouth). “Wh— wait please don’t cry, Marianne— I- I mean, your Majesty—“ (by the Earth, even Plum was giving him the most disapproving look he’d ever _seen_ ) “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

She takes ahold of the branch the web was woven around, her pixies pressed against the barrier and chattering endlessly, doing _wonders_ at making him feel even _worse_ , “Can I— can I just…?” She touches the web lightly with a finger.

“Of _course_ , just— you can just reach in and pull them out.” He ushers her to do so, speaking gently and _very pointedly_ ignoring Plum, who is graciously by some miracle staying silent. Just _watching_. He just knows she was conspiring with those damn, little—

The Queen carefully reaches in, wincing at the strange sensation, and her pixies quickly latch onto her fingers so she can pull them out. She breathes a sigh of relief when they fly free and swarm around her with gleeful babble, wiping away her tears and brushing her hair out of her eyes. The sight of the thankful smile on her face when she says “I missed you, too,” is very nearly worth all the misery of the past week. Maybe a little bit. (it definitely is)

She wipes any stray tears and says quietly, giving him a somber look, “Please, they need sun…”

He tries his damnedest not to stumble over his own feet in his hurry to open the door again, “Of course, of course—”

Even still she hesitates, “But…” She then finally looks to the other inhabitant of the prison, someone she had obviously seen but only wanted to mention once the more present matter was resolved.

Sugar Plum waves a hand dismissively and surprises both of them. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for who knows how many years, what’s a few hours more! What’s _more_ important is that _you two_ ,” She points a finger accusingly, and she gives a _look_ to the pixies, “Need to have a very long chat.” Her tone and unknown meaning baffles them both, but she continues, “I will wait here. For a while. Now shoo.” She points out the door.

The Queen gives Sugar Plum a look that she hopes is full of promise, and then follows the Bog King back upstairs (where he pointedly ignores another look from his Mother) and then outside.

The pixies fly about in glee, happy to have some fresh air and sunlight, even if it was getting close to dusk. Their Queen flares her wings and flies up to a high branch of a nearby tree with them, the Bog King close behind and clutching his staff almost _nervously_. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that they had more than a few pairs of eyes following them.

“Yes, that’s better,” the Fae Queen says quietly, perhaps only to herself or her pixies, but he hears it all the same. Seemingly satisfied with the better scenery, she now turns to him with her hands on her hips, and his wings twitch.

“ _Why in all the sky_ did you put them in the _dungeon?_ ”

The reappearance of her anger along with the thought that there was no lasting damage to the pixies put him more at ease, which really meant that he was free to retaliate. “ _I don’t understand_ — It was _your_ wee devils that wrought havoc on _my castle_ for the past _week_!”

She scoffs with a roll of her eyes, “ _Devils_ , really, sire? They’re _pixies._ ”

“She-devils,” he corrects, “Trouble-making _wretches_.” He could have almost laughed at her expression at that if he still didn’t feel terrible about making her so upset.

“ _Trouble-making_ —?” The Queen actually _did_ laugh, “What could they have  _done_? They’ve never done a thing!”

“They _stole_ all of my _things_! I nearly tore the castle apart trying to get the under _control_ so I could stop going _mad_.”

“ _Stole_ —?” She seems genuinely, deeply surprised at this, and then looks thoughtful, “Did they… did they only steal _your_ things?” She casts a _look_ at her pixies like she might know what this was about, but the three of them were suddenly deeply involved in weaving a crown of blue flowers.

“So it seems,” the King grits his teeth, “None of my subjects said a _word_ about even _seeing_ the little vermin!”

She snorts, swatting his arm playfully, “Stop calling them names!” The motion seems to surprise them both and she quickly folds her arms. “So… does that mean you didn’t take them?”

“ _Take_ them?” He looks at her incredulously, “ _I_ was convinced _you_ left them here to _torment me!_ ”

This takes her a moment to process, large eyes blinking, and then she  _laughs_. She begins to laugh so hard she almost falls over, until he reaches out to steady her with a hand on her arm.

“Of course I didn’t _leave them_ , they weren’t even supposed to come with me to the counsel—they’ve been by my side for—for ages! Ever since I was like six cycles old!” Her giggles die out the more she speaks, “No, I would never—I thought I’d lost them _forever_ , I was—” She flushes suddenly and ducks her head and he’s a little entranced, “I was _devastated_. I tore _my_ castle apart looking for them.”

The somber note in her voice draws back his guilt, and he speaks with strong earnest, “Marianne— _Queen_ Marianne, I never meant for this…” he starts weakly, with a lame gesture towards the pixies, and then clears his throat to start again. “I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you. If I’d known…”

The pixies chose this moment to return to their Queen, a finished crown of blue flowers draped between the three of them as they flew over her and carefully, gracefully draped it over the top of her head. They then fussed over fixing her hair so it lay perfectly beneath the flowers and it was _terribly endearing_ (no wonder she always looks so perfectly put together at each counsel—) and all the while she doesn’t notice, used to such treatment from them. All of her attention was still on him and something about the sight strikes a chord in him, deep in his chest. Something about how those blue flowers from _his forest_ looked perfect on her, like they fit her _too well_. His voice dies in his throat, and she, looking rapt by his words, shook her head almost desperately.

“No, you couldn’t have known— I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was _incredibly_ upset, but it’s not…” She then smiles so, so brightly, “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean any harm, I was just worried about them.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that (can’t say anything at the moment, truthfully,) so he nods and simply stares.

Thankfully, she either didn’t notice or chose not to, and continues, “Now, I don’t know what you did to attract their attention, Sire, but this all makes me think they’ve taken quite the liking to you, if they actually left _me_ to come spend time _here_ and _‘torment you.’_ ” She looks quite cheeky at that.

“Bah,” he scoffs, able to shake off that moment at her teasing, “That’s not what it seemed to _me_ , taking all of my things at the most inconvenient of times, and on top of all of that the _singing_ —”

The Queen suddenly threw out her arms in a panic and he jumped, wings flaring, “Wait, wait wait wait.” Her eyes were wide and it only highlighted the honey in them, and he had to look away, “They actually _sang?_ ”

“Well—yes,” he replies uneasily, unsure where this was going, “Every damn night.”

“I—oh.” Something clicks and she can’t think of the words to say, her mouth opening and closing. (She thinks of Dawn, of Sunny, of Dawn’s pixies _singing_ with the both of them for the first time and her younger sister was so _happy_ — Marianne’s own pixies never even sang for **_him_** —) “Ohhh, _skies_. Oh no.” She withdraws from him a little.

“What?” The King practically demands, “What does that _mean_?” (he’d never before seen the Queen so ungainly, so _blundering_ as she was this evening— not that it bothered him in the slightest, but it caused a whole interesting  _slew_ of emotions he had _no idea what to do with_ )

“Um. It—It’s nothing, really!” She tries to assure him, but her posture and expression say it’s anything but. He gives her a serious and slightly concerned look, and her shoulders slump the slightest bit as she sighs. “That… that sounds like they were singing… sweetsongs.”

“They were singing _what_?”

“A _sweetsong_ ,” she repeats, a little adamant despite her humiliation, “Like… you know, a serenade? I guess?”

“Like a _love song_?”

Her face is suddenly red as raspberries— “I don’t know! I guess! It… it happens sometimes!”

“So _they’re_ …?” His expression is so dubious it’s laughable, as he motions to them and then points at himself.

“ _No!_ No, no, no, not like _that_.”

“Then like _what_?”

She lets out a long breath, embarrassed and frustrated. “My sister’s pixies did, when she…” She motions with her hands rather uselessly. “ _…found someone._ ”

He stands perfectly straight and this time she definitely notices he can’t take his eyes off her as he almost whispers, “ _You…?_ ”

Her arms are now wrapped tightly around herself again and she stammers, but he looks so thoughtful and damn it, even _hopeful_ that there’s no way she can even attempt to deny what he’s afraid to insinuate. She instead lets out another long exhale and decides to sit on their branch, legs dangling free over the edge. “I don’t know,” she says truthfully.

He sits beside her easily, staff resting against one shoulder, and he accepts that answer. It certainly gave them both a lot to think about.

Silence stretches for a few moments and it’s not uncomfortable, but she’d prefer something else to talk about even still. “I… I wanted to talk about the Sugar Plum Fairy.”

That seemed to shake him out of his reverie and he cast her a wary glance, for which she was glad. (Truth be told, actually _seeing_ Sugar Plum had shaken her, and she they’d talked around it for too long.)

“We’ve both outlawed the Potion for—“ Her voice betrays her, “…For our own reasons. And we’ve agreed to uphold this. But Sugar Plum… she doesn’t need to suffer for the transgressions of _others_.”

His scales rattle slightly, but he stays deep in thought. It was something he’d thought about often ever since beginning these peace talks with the Queen, as much as he’d hate to admit it.

She continues, as if to set his mind at ease. “I know you’ll object, so hear me out. We can still keep her under supervision, just… a lot, _lot_ less supervision, and even so I think Sugar Plum would do anything for her freedom. Even swearing off the Potion. If there are any further… incidents… then we can deal with them—and Plum—if it comes to that.”

( _‘We,’ she said…_ )

Still the King is silent, until finally he grumbles, awfully bitterly, “You’re right. Of course.”

At that she grins. “Of course I am.” And then the Queen reaches over to touch his shoulder and his wings flutter. “Thanks. It’s the right thing to do.”

There are a few more moments of silence—enough to calm his nerves—but he doesn’t let it settle completely, “You know, your Majesty, I’ve been wondering…” She casts him a curious glance and he looks down. “Do you…” He clears his throat and taps the end of his staff to the sword at her hip, attempting a jesting tone, “Do you even know how to use that?”

After her surprise wears off, the only words that would describe the look on her face would be _wicked delight_. “Careful, _Bog_ ,” –her wings flutter as she says it—“You’re about to bite off more than you can chew. And… call me Marianne.”

(from that point on he does, and he is left to wonder if now he actually needs to _thank_ Sugar Plum)

 

* * *

  

 **bonus** ;

Marianne was very nearly asleep, nestled and incredibly comfortable, when the singing began and stirred the other inhabitant of the bed.

“Love,” Bog’s voice is thick with sleep and muffled into her shoulder, her face tucked next to his, “ _Please_ tell me this won’t happen every damned night.”

She can’t help but give a small, tired laugh, a lot less bothered by her pixies’ singing than he was (he didn’t mind _her_ singing), “There’s a _few_ ways to make them go away.” _Or so I’ve heard._ Her arms wind around his torso to touch the hard line of his back, making his scales and wings twitch, and the noise he makes says he’s interested.

She pulls him over her, and he rolls easily onto his elbows and knees, hands immediately cradling her head and waist as she presses kisses to the hard line of his cheekbone trailing down to his jaw. Her fingers again trace the chitin of his back, drawing another sharp reaction from him, and almost immediately there’s three, distinct ‘eep!’s as the pixies flee the scene and his chamber is left blissfully silent again.

She grins and he presses his forehead to hers, giving a relieved sigh, “Well, thank the Earth for _that_ ,” He mutters before tilting his head to kiss her.

Sleep can wait a few minutes.


End file.
